Holiday Blues
by Jonatan L
Summary: So, a Turk walks into a bar... Vincent might have expected it to end with a witty punchline, but instead he finds a certain ninja who has had just a little too much eggnog. Winter holiday fluff.


**Holiday Blues**

* * *

Short, pointless fluff, because _every_ world has some suitably nameless winter holiday... or something. Originally written in a couple of hours on Christmas Eve _last_ year. But I only posted it on LJ at the time, so what the heck.

* * *

Vincent blinked.

He didn't do that a lot. Vincent didn't do _anything_ a lot. A blink from him was like an outburst of _Oh-my-god,-what-the-fuck-_is_-this-shit?_ from most other people.

Yuffie looked up and waved. "Yo!" And she giggled.

"I thought your father had told you in no uncertain terms that you were _not_ to come here," he said.

"Aww. And you thought I'd _listen_?" Another giggle. "Don't be a silly Vinny."

Vincent sighed. There were quite a few things he was of the opinion that he could claim to be, or to at least have been, but a 'silly Vinny' was not one of them.

"And that glass has -" Except it was empty. "- _had_ something alcoholic in it. As I understood it, you are below legal drinking age in Wutai... as well as everywhere else in the known world."

"'s a bloody _eggnog_. It's supposed to be _festive_, right?"

It was, wasn't it? _Supposed_ to be. Wutai did not, however, appear 'festive'. It looked lazy, and warm, and boring, just as always. It was _supposed_ to be midwinter, but the town radiated a sense of _I'll believe that when I see it_ and there wasn't a single snowflake to be seen. There wasn't even any slush. There weren't any decorations either. The pub had one very small, very unhappy-looking sprig of holly hanging over the door. That was _it_.

"You asked for a refill, my lady?"

The manager of the Turtle's Paradise was small and nondescript, and Vincent wasn't sure if the nervous twitch was natural to him, or a result of his, Vincent's, presence... or Yuffie's.

"Yeah, keep 'em comin'. And he's having one too."

"Yes, of course. Would you like a menu, sir?"

Vincent gave the man his best _go away_ look. It worked. That done, he took a seat.

"'Keep them coming'?"

"Yeah, what? Everybody _always_ says to keep 'em coming. It's traditional, like!"

"Not when they are drinking eggnog."

She pouted. "Yeah, so? I'll start a trend or something."

_Besides_... She had a slightly glazed look. Vincent frowned, very slightly. "How many have you _had_?"

"Including this one?" She pursed her lips, looking thoughtful. "Um -"

"Yuffie..."

"- one," she concluded. An entire celestial chorus couldn't have radiated more innocent sincerity. Vincent took a breath, opened his mouth, and closed it again. Yuffie sniggered. "What?"

"Are you going to be able to _walk_?"

"Mmm... maybe? And who cares? Holidays are _about_ partying until you can't walk! 's true. Cid told me."

"But what you're doing is _drinking_ until you can't walk, and trust me when I say that there are few worse substances to use for that purpose than eggnog." She shot him an incredulous look that made her look nowhere near as drunk as she otherwise seemed. "I _was_ young once," he reminded her. Yuffie snorted.

"Yeah, _suuure_ you were. You were probably born with like, a suit and tie, and _ew_ mental image! Make it go away!"

"Your own fault entirely, Yuffie." She was right, though. It _was_ a vile mental image.

Around that time, Yuffie's glass returned, refilled, accompanied by a similar one for Vincent. The twitchy little man removed himself before he could get another glare.

"Hey, Vincent! Ten bucks say I can finish this before you can finish yours." Vincent didn't answer. "Oh, come on! You Grumpy McGrumpenstein! It's no fun having drinking contests with myself. 'specially since I'll drink me under the table as easy as that. Don't give me that look, I'm a _ninja_, we can do stuff. 's magic. So, what'cha say? You on? Hm? Hm?"

"If I win," he said, "you will go home and go to bed."

"Aww. You're no fun at all! Besides, I'm only getting to the good part! My head's all fuzzy. On the inside. Ya know?"

"You'll thank me for it in the morning. And I will be spared your cries of _I'll kill you, Valentine!_ while I'm emptying the bucket you just threw up in."

She glared. There seemed to be three of him, so it didn't go particularly well. "Oo, fine! But if _I_ win, _you're_ going to... _stand on your head_... on the table..." He sighed and shook his head. She held up a hand and waved for silence. "_And_," she continued, grinning, "declare poetry! And pay for my drinks. Still wanna do it?"

"Ready when you are."

"All right! Mr. Fuzzypants over there'll be the judge." She sniggered. "Don't worry, I'll let you off easy! You can just do a haiku and I'll be happy."

"Ever so grateful."

The manager's nervous twitch had only got worse since the last time. "Yes, my lady?"

"We're havin' a drinking contest! I want you to count to three and see who finishes first, got it? And then I want another refill. And you can get me a book of poetry while you're at it."

"Poetry, my lady?" he asked weakly.

"Never mind that. Just count. Come on, count!"

She reached for her glass.

"Just do as she says," Vincent sighed. The little man shook his head in mute astonishment.

"Count... to three?"

"Yeah. Like... seconds or something. You know! Don't people ever do this in here? Gawd! Get countin'!"

He sighed. "One -" Yuffie grinned. "Two -"

"- three!"

_Clink._ One glass, emptied, stood on the table.

"Do you want to see that again?" Vincent asked as Yuffie and the manager goggled.

Yuffie lowered her own glass, still half full. Somehow, she had managed to get eggnog on the tip of her nose. "That _has_ to be cheating," she complained.

"As I said, I was young once. How do you think I spent _my_ holidays?"

"Aww. That's no fair. I didn't know I was up against a _professional_!"

"I used to be a Turk, Yuffie. How much more warning do you need? And now, it is time to honour your promise. Finish your drink and I'll get you home." And if Yuffie later claimed that he had smiled then, even just a little, he would deny it vehemently. "And there is eggnog on your nose."

She left the half-emptied glass on the table. Three attempts at walking later, Vincent scooped her up and carried her out, accompanied by a half-strangled yelp of "Hey! That's undignified! Lemme down, I can so totally walk!"

The manager sat down and leaned his head in his hands. Why, oh _why_ did his humble establishment _always_ attract the weird ones?

* * *

It was cold outside. 

"Hey, I can see my house from up here!"

"Yes, I know."

"Don't bounce like that when you walk!"

"Sorry."

"Gosh, I didn't know you were so tall! And I'm gonna be sick."

"Can it wait?"

"Umm... no?"

They stopped on the tiny bridge over the tiny stream running through town.

"Oo," she complained as she straightened up, "that felt a _lot_ better going the other way."

"It always does. Can you walk now?"

She tried.

"Um. Help?"

"Just take one step at a time."

"You're a fine gentleman. Aren't you supposed to be falling over yourself helping me out here?"

"I _am_ keeping you upright. And I have never claimed to be a gentleman."

"You think I'm an idiot."

"Only if you don't learn from this."

"I'm gonna _kill_ you, Valentine."

"Only if your father doesn't find out about this first."

"Oh _shi-_" _Thump._ "Hey! You let me fall! You totally _let_ me fall! All your fault!"

"Not at all. Can I help you up?"

"You are _so_ dead. Not only am I going to wake up with a hangover, I have bruises on my butt as well! Oo _dizzy_. Not so fast! See if I ever let you pull me off the ground again!"

"I hope not to need to. This is it, then. If you have locked yourself out, I will be most displeased."

But the door was unlocked and opened without a sound on well-oiled hinges. The house was dark and silent, unfamiliar; it took some fumbling before he found the right room. Yuffie made an unarticulated noise when he dropped her on the bed, rolled over, and was silent. He turned to leave, and something nearly strangled him.

Eyes closed, smiling much too innocently to fool him into believing it was unintentional, Yuffie was holding on to a corner of his cape with both hands, hugging it to her chest.

Vincent sighed.

When she woke up, he had left her a bucket on the floor. On the small table next to the bed, there was a glass of water, and next to it lay a book of poetry she had never seen before. Someone (without photographic evidence, she _refused_ to believe it was Valentine) had tied a small red ribbon around it.

Wrapped in the familiar red cloth that had served as her blanket during the night, she smiled and started reading.

**END.**


End file.
